The day finally arrived for them all to head back to Hogwarts, so the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, all being witches and wizards with magical, supernatural powers, loaded up Arthur Weasley's 1982 Plymouth Reliant (leaving the Ford Anglia with all the amazing magical augments in the shed out back) and set off for London. After arriving in London in Arthur's regular-ass K-Car in a much shorter time than it should've taken to reach London from Devon, the group slipped through the brick wall separating platforms nine and ten. Immediately they could tell something was greatly amiss.
"What the French tickler?" Ron exclaimed once they arrived on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Instead of the usual sight of the bright red locomotive, they were instead treated to the sight of a bright blue train engine with a big, round, gray (and varying degrees of creepy, depending on the viewer) face right on the front.
"What's happened to the Hogwarts Express?" Harry wondered aloud.
"Couldn't use it this year," said the elderly train engineer. "We were in a bind because over the summer the train's taken to spats of structural xylophoning."
"What does that even mean?" Hermione puzzled.
"Don't worry about it," said the engineer. "Thankfully old Thomas here volunteered for the job, so we'll be able to get you kids to school on time."
"We're not kids," Harry retorted. "We're old enough to drink and fuck and foil the plans of dark wizards with sixty years worth of experience over us. We're not kids."
"Harry," Arthur said, "even though everything you said is true, you mustn't treat your elders like that."
"Sorry, Mr. Weasley," Harry mumbled, and then he, Ron, and Hermione boarded the train. They, along with Ginny and Luna Lovegood, took a cabin near the rear of the train. Once they had gotten their things stowed away, Neville Longbottom approached their cabin.
"Hey," he said, "you lot mind if I sit with you?"
"Sorry, Neville," said Luna as she gazed up at him through her overlarge and ridiculously-looking pair of Spectre Specs. "You aren't cool enough to sit here." Crushed and defeated, Neville ventured off to find a less-cool crowd with whom to spend the next several hours.
"That was a bit harsh, Luna," Ginny said disapprovingly, "saying Neville isn't cool enough to sit here."
"It's true, though," she argued. "I mean, he will be next year when he grows a pair and pulls a sword out of a hat, but he just isn't there yet."
"I know," Ginny said, "but it was especially bad coming from you. You do realize what everyone calls you behind your back, don't you?"
"No," she said, genuine surprise filling her silver eyes. "What?"
Ginny sighed. "Hermione, why don't you tell her…"
"Alright," Hermione said hesitantly. "Luna, you know how your name is Luna…"
"Of course," Luna replied, her eyes glossy.
"And, well, you know how you sometimes act a bit…odd…"
"Yes."
"And you know how your name sort of sounds like a synonym for 'mad'…"
"You mean the word 'loony'? Yes."
"Well…" Hermione hesitated. "That's the thing…when you aren't around, people like to make fun of the way you act. They call you 'That-Crazy-Bitch-In-Ravenclaw-House."
Luna sat silent for a moment. Then she spoke. "Oh, well…yeah, I knew that."
"Alright, then," Ron said, clapping his hands together. "So who's up for some Blackjack?" Ron produced a deck of cards from his carry-on bag and they all prepared for some good, old-fashioned underage gambling. However, their fun time was not to last, as all throughout the train, the students' peace and quiet was pervaded by the constant mantra, "I think I can, I think I can."
"Oh no," Ginny sighed. "Thomas apparently thinks he's the Little Engine that Could. I hope he doesn't keep this up the whole trip."
It did. Four hours later, they arrived in Hogsmeade Station.
"I dunno," said Thomas the Tank Engine. "I'm starting to doubt my abilities."
"You did fine, Thomas," said Hagrid as he bounded towards the station. "Alrigh', firs' years, over this way!"
"Come on," Hermione urged. "We need to get inside before the sorting." They all made their way inside, said goodbye to Luna as she headed over to the Ravenclaw table, and then sat down at the Gryffindor table. Finally a line of first-years streamed in through the centre of the Great Hall, and Prof. McGonagall brought out the Sorting Hat.
"We will now perform the Sorting," she announced. The first student in line started to step forward, when the Sorting Hat cut her off.
"Not so fast, missy," spat the Hat. "First I have to sing some outrageous song that I've spent all last year writing and then repeating so I won't forget it. However, I've decided I'm not doing that this year. Instead, this is what I have to say. All the kids with glasses go to Ravenclaw, all the kids that like to be rowdy go to Gryffindor, all the kids who've got mustaches go to Slytherin, and everyone else goes to Hufflepuff."
"Sorting Hat, this won't do," said McGonagall. "These kids are eleven years old. They haven't got mustaches."
"Yes they do," argued the hat. "Simple logic dictates that they do. Some students are Slytherins. All Slytherins are evil. Therefore, some students are evil. All Slytherins are evil people. All evil people have got mustaches. Therefore, all Slytherins have got mustaches, therefore, all students who are Slytherins have got mustaches."
Prof. McGonagall, finding no way to refute the Hat's statement, returned silently to the staff table. Then Dumbledore got up to speak.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today," he began before coming to his senses. "Oh, wait, wrong speech. Well, um…since I seem to have misplaced my note cards, despite having what seems to be an eidetic memory, I am unable to give my beginning of term speech. Just remember, all the things I usually say are still in effect, and I'm starving so let's get this show on the road!" Immediately the golden plates and goblets all around the Great Hall filled with a feast.
"Hermione's right," Harry sighed. "This is going to be a long school year."